Crystal's StorySite


Crossing Your X's And Dotting Your Y's

by Young Ovidius

Part Two


What was supposed to be just another mundane autumn Saturday has turned into an unexpected dramatic and intensely personal crisis for both Scott and Debbie Raghetti. Each half of the young married couple now owns the genitals of the other but only knows of their own situation. In their visceral reactions to their physical rearrangements, they haven't yet had time to absorb all its implications. Neither has decided exactly how to break the news to their spouse, but the inevitable draws nearer. Listen to them as they recall how it all unfolded.



You don't realize just how difficult such a problem as having your penis instantaneously replaced by a bleeding vagina can be until it happens to you. I had nowhere to turn, no one to explain this to, no frame of reference from anywhere in my experience to tell me how to respond and how to resolve the crisis. No, I had crossed into some sort of magical and freakish unknown. Or maybe, just maybe, I hoped that it was some sort of wild hallucination. But I hadn't touched drugs since the one or two times I experimented with them in junior college, and I hadn't had more than a single beer all week. So that seemed unlikely. I didn't know what to do but to go home to my wife. Anywhere else it seemed likely they would put me away, either as a psycho loony or as a freak of nature that deserved hours of poking and prodding by scientists in lab coats. No, the choice was easy. I had to come home.

Yet with each passing moment something inside my mind assured me that what I had observed had indeed happened to me. The sensation of emptiness between my legs kept hitting me like a sledge hammer. And the cramps dared I say "menstrual cramps"? in my lower stomach certainly wouldn't let me forget. My mind kept racing back to Debbie and how I would tell her about what had happened. It wouldn't be easy. It wasn't something I could just rush in the door and say, "Hi, honey! I'm home! Guess what? My dick is gone, and now I have a pussy. Isn't that something? Well, I guess we aren't going to have children. Hmm, can we still live together, and if we do, does that make us lesbians?" I wondered what I was. Honestly.



There's no doubt I figured out what all had happened before Scott did. I didn't know for sure, but having identified Scott's penis on my body I just sort of felt that he must have had my vagina that somehow in my complaining about the bathroom situation and my period and all, that something had decided to switch us. Hey, even though I had a man's genitals it didn't mean that I'd lost my women's intuition. But still I wasn't entirely sure. And I wanted to be good and sure before bringing it up, though the nagging inside was strong.

I was so relieved when he made it home. I wanted to give him a big hug because if what I thought was true then we would really need each other like never before. And even if not, I definitely would need his support and his help. I wasn't used to the mechanics below, and I would value his perspective, one way or the other. But when Scott came through the front door, he was of no mind to help me. He seemed aloof and unsure of himself. It was like a huge amount of his masculine self-confidence had just melted away. I was feeling mighty confused myself and so didn't try to drag him into a big conversation right away. I tried to tell myself that he would come to me when he was ready.



I thought I had built up the nerve to handle the situation until I got home and saw Debbie's face. I just ran into the living room to hide, turning on the television and watching the fourth quarter of the Tigers game. I so desperately wanted to take my mind off my new pussy and all the problems it posed but even with a really good football game on the tube I couldn't focus on anything else. That's why I'm surprised I didn't notice the way I was sitting with my legs held very tightly together. It's so much different having your dick and balls down there; it's like it reminds you to keep some distance between your legs. But that was gone. I caught Debbie glancing down at my legs and instantly pulled them several inches apart and tried to act like nothing was wrong.



I was almost certain at that point. He had his legs held together like any woman might do sitting on the couch. I decided maybe I'd at least break the ice at this point and asked if he wanted anything to drink. We shared a couple iced teas and some unresponsive small talk, but it didn't get any farther than that. Meanwhile, I tried to sit down on the living room soft chair and cross my legs like I had so many times before and responded with a surprised, "Ouch!" I couldn't believe I'd said that aloud.

I had to fib when Scott asked what was wrong, inventing that a piece of metal had been sticking out of the arm of the chair and poked my leg. He just said, "Oh," and went back to watching television.



It was more than an hour later, and another college football game had come on the air. I was halfway through my second glass of iced tea when it happened. The call of nature. It was slightly different than I was used to, but there was no denying that I needed to pee. I immediately retreated into my mind and started telling myself to think how using the facilities would be different, how to be discreet about it all, and so on.

But mainly I just kept lying to myself subconsciously, deciding to hold it and hold it and hold it as if by doing so it would never have to happen. Twenty minutes convinced me of my foolishness, so I rose from the couch and headed for the upstairs bathroom. I wanted more privacy than I'd ever wanted in my life, and for obvious reasons. When Debbie asked me where I was going, then followed me up with the story of having to fold laundry, I felt incredibly uneasy. As she walked up the stairs behind me I started to breathe heavily, wondering if she could detect the small spot of blood on my jeans. But then another cramp came to compound my need to pee. I gritted my teeth and tried to act like nothing was wrong.

Inside the bathroom I made certain the door was locked and the fan was on. The urgency and my distress were both strong, as the uncertainty of the process made me wonder how long I could stave off having an accident. In a rare occurrence, I griped to myself that the toilet seat was up. Debbie had been cleaning the bathroom and left it that way. I guessed that from then on the toilets in our house would never need the seats up for any length of time ever again. I guessed wrong but didn't know it quite then.

Never in the few hours since the switch had I more profoundly missed my penis than that moment. There I was, sitting on the throne perched like a queen, staring numbly at the bloodied pad in my underwear and trying to figure out exactly how to just let go. And then it happened, the soft, warm fsss sound sending pangs of humiliation all over. It was as if the absence of seeing a strong, clear stream of urine coming from my body meant an absence of strength. My emotions latched onto a sensation of frailty and passivity. Only the slightly rational wonderings I had about how all my future men's room experiences might go disrupted these feelings. I never thought I would miss a urinal, but now I felt myself silently crying out to God for the chance to use one ever again... just once.



I sat on the side of the bed in the room adjacent to Scott and grew even more confident that I'd been right when I heard him lock the door and turn on the fan. Most the time I could barely get him to close the door all the way when he was going to the bathroom (unless he was going the other way, and he did that in the mornings, like clockwork). It's like he enjoyed subtly reminding me that he could do it all standing up, that he was a man, that he could whip it out and have it done like nothing. Or maybe he just generally didn't care. Anyway, I felt a tremendous sympathy for him and a tremendous need to confront him about the whole situation. I knew after only three hours of this that it couldn't go on anymore. It was terribly excruciating. I needed to tell my husband that I had his penis and to ask him if he indeed had to pee sitting down. I tried to think of subtle ways to open up the conversation when he emerged and settled on a course of action.

"It took you awhile in there," I remarked.

Scott was taken aback. "What? Were you sitting there for me waiting to come out? Do you need to get in there?"

"No," I shrugged. I couldn't stand him being dismissive anymore. "Why did you lock the door and turn on the fan? I know you only take a shit in the morning."

"Well, uh, you know, I just wanted some privacy for once."

He was about ready to walk out of the room when I opted to be slightly more direct. "Did you remember to wipe?"

"You know I didn't take a shit...."

"That's not what I mean," I replied, a tear welling up in my eye. I didn't want to do this, but someone had to take charge. I never saw Scott's face turn so white and pale.



When Debbie asked me that, I could tell she knew. The answer to her question was yes, but that wasn't what needed to be addressed right away. My knees were weak, and I just sort of collapsed onto the bed next to her, barely able to sit up. My hands propped me up. For some reason the first thing I said was, "I think I'm losing blood." She looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or cry or what.

"Tell me, Scott. Is it true? Did it happen to you, too?"

And as I glanced down at her midsection it hit me for the first time. Whatever happened was to us, not just to me. "Do you mean that...? I mean, uh,... do you...?" I didn't know whether to feel relieved that I wasn't a lesbian exactly or to be horrified that my wife was going through her own little private hell or what. But now I was pretty sure we were in this together. "I - I don't know how to say this, but...."

"You never did tell me if you brought my maxis home. Where are they?" I'd left them in the truck, hidden in the glove compartment. I was too embarrassed to have to explain why I'd already cracked open the package. "Don't be afraid, honey." As she reached forward to me, I leaned on her and embraced her so tightly with all the strength I could muster in my weakened state. "Tell me about it. Please, tell me about it." By this point, I felt like a fool but was sobbing on her shoulder. I couldn't speak. "Let me tell you what happened to me first. Okay?"

It was then that I heard the whole account firsthand. When she tried to describe what it was like peeing onto the wall, I started to laugh through the tears a bit. We both had to admit it was a humorous picture. But it wouldn't stay just a picture in my mind's eye for long.



"You have to look, Scott. I need you to look. I need you to look at it and still tell me that you love me. Please!"

This is what I repeated to him until I could get him to break the hug and let me stand up. He was understandably reluctant. Hell, it wasn't a walk in the park for me, either. Can you imagine having to strip off your pants in front of your husband to show him your new penis... his penis? But that's just what I did. I dropped my sweats and panties to the ground, a slightly more difficult effort with my new shaft preventing a smooth descent to the ground. Scott gasped when he saw it at first and calling out, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

I don't know why I did, but I told him gently to touch it. Maybe I thought it would help him ease the pain of separation to be reacquainted like that. But before long we were both playing with our old friend he just happened to be in an unaccustomed place even after he stood firmly at attention.

"That's mine," he said more than once. "That's mine."

It was then I said something I shouldn't have. It set off a chain reaction of regrettable words and actions. "Looks like you have a real case of penis envy!" The words were smug and sarcastic and cutting. I'm not sure that Scott would ever have said something like that to me, but now that the dick was on the other body it seemed a much more apt comment.


It didn't take much to set me off when she said that. First of all, I wasn't used to dealing with the emotional and physical discomforts of menstruation. So I snapped. "Penis envy, bitch? Penis envy?"

She joined right in. "Yeah, that's right! I remember some of the things you used to say. Maybe you didn't mean them to hurt, but they could. You could be so immature at times. Bragging that you could write your name in the snow and all that. Well, who just did her little miss pissy sitting down?" I'd never come close to any sort of domestic abuse before, but I slapped Debbie rather viciously across the cheek. Her comeback to that was equally harsh. "I always wondered how a man would react to having a period."

"Oh, it's all funny now that it's happening to me, is it? If I made any little remark when it was the way it's supposed to be, then I was in the doghouse for days!"

"It is funny!"

Her incessant laughing made me angrier and just intensified the pain of the cramps. Through a grimace I continued, "Well, at least I never pissed on the wall. Good luck trying to go out into the world with that thing." I pointed at her nakedness in anger but then went cold for a second when I felt a pang of lust. Our heated exchange quickly changed course.



"I promise not to make fun any more," I pleaded. "Just let me see your pussy."

He had no choice but to concede that it was only fair. "Can I take off my underwear while I'm having the period?" he wondered aloud with all the curiosity of a twelve-year-old girl.

"It'll be all right for now," I responded sharply. Then I eased up my tone a bit when I suggested that we'd put in a tampon in a little while. He protested that there was no way anyone was going to stick anything inside of him like that. No way! "You'll be thanking me later. And you'll be thanking me a lot more if I ever have to go out and buy you more of your feminine products. Lucky for you, I should be stocked up now with everything if you bought what I told you did."

But then he slid down his briefs and showed me the bloody pad inside them. "I had to open up the box," he said meekly, his red-faced head bowed in shame. "Hope you're not mad."

I couldn't help but laugh smugly. "Ha! I don't need them anymore. Not now anyway." But my eyes couldn't be torn away from the smooth patch of hair between his legs. "I need to test a hypothesis, honey," I said unconvincingly. "If this is your dick, then that must be my pussy...."

"Well, yeah, I guess so..."

"Well then... I want you so bad, I want you so bad. Let me do you!" The words just slipped out of my mouth with a hot and heavy tone that did not belie at all what I had said.

He was still saying, "This is so wrong, this is so wrong," as he let me take him in my arms and we fell onto the bed. He was still saying, "This is so wrong," when he spread his legs for me, when I could feel all the wetness on my hand from stimulating his vagina.



I didn't know it could be like that. I didn't know making love could be like that at all. Even while having a period. Oh, my God, it was spectacular! There's no doubt in my mind it's better as a woman. You couldn't convince me otherwise. Not at all. The pleasure is not only longer, but it's deeper, too.

As I lay on the bed recovering from my own personal official deflowering, Debbie returned from the bathroom with a foreboding object in her hand a tampon. "You definitely have my equipment, Scott. That heavy flow you've got. This is what it's like for me every month. I knew I'd have to clean my thing off, but like that?" As she continued I spread my legs once more, this time to take in a feminine hygiene product that I never thought I'd ever grow so intimate with. "Now, listen to me. And watch. Because I don't want to have to keep doing this for you." After she explained every painful detail, including where and how far to insert and the standard warning not to flush the applicator down the toilet, she said, "Anyway, it's your choice from now on. I just wanted to make sure you got to use both a pad and a tampon. It'll be up to you. But with as heavy as I know it's going to be for you, I'd stick with both, at least for the first couple days."

My head was spinning with information, so much that I mutely complied when she handed me back my underwear and told me to change the maxi, too. I couldn't argue with her reasoning, especially as it lay in experience. I couldn't wait to get my briefs on as fast as possible. The sight of that little string dangling between my legs only taunted the absent dick all the more.

I started to wonder as I snapped the waistband in place if I should continue wearing these underwear. The front crotch opening was entirely useless now, even though the rest of the garment conformed perfectly to my still otherwise distinctly male shape.



I admit I took a wicked pleasure in telling him how to use a tampon like you would tell a young girl. I felt down inside that he deserved every bit of the humiliation. After all, he had obviously discovered how much better sex is from the female side. I just didn't realize how disappointed I would be playing the man's part. It was over so quickly, though I demonstrated at least as much self-control as Scott ever had. I made sure he had his pleasure, but once mine was over with I called it quits. I wanted him to know how that felt.

Even so, I couldn't deny the other advantages of my new genital makeup. Like being able to pee standing up. However, it was only a few minutes after we were both clothed again that I felt a desperate urge come out of nowhere. I got the seat up with my shaky hands after nearly forgetting and fumbling with my clothes. I just about sat down before I remembered and turned around. But it was too late. Besides dribbling a little wet spot again on the front of my pants I also left a few drops on the floor. Fortunately, most of it ended up in the bowl where it belonged. I even made sure, though, to clean up the wet spots on the floor with a piece of toilet paper before sending it down the drain.

After I thoroughly washed my hands I returned to the room and a husband with a smirk on his face. "I think we not only swapped the main equipment but the bladders, too," he confessed.

I tilted my head in wonderment.



It's hard for a guy to admit the kind of problem I'd had off and on for many years, and that was my too often impatient bladder. It had gotten me into many unique and unpleasant situations. Though I had to go no more often (and typically less often) than my wife, quite often when the urge came it came quickly and with little warning. I would inevitably dribble some into my pants while pretending like I didn't have to do the little kid's bathroom dance. It was so embarrassing that it was something I really never even talked about with Debbie and nothing I ever went to the doctor about. The frequency of the instances had only increased over the years, such that I worried in silence my plight would eventually be adult diapers. But that's another story.

"Well, I guess we both know now," I said, then went on to tell her about my condition.

Her response made us both laugh. "It's hard enough getting used to having to go like a man, but you didn't make it any easier for me to adjust."

The afterglow from our lovemaking quickly faded, but the deep impressions of confusion that it left didn't escape so easily. I didn't have any idea how to sort out the sensations I felt down there with my other intellectual and emotional needs to feel like a man. It was hard. Very hard.



That evening we didn't waste any time figuring out what was number one on the agenda. We didn't even bother to cook dinner but instead ordered pizza by delivery and tried to act nonchalant when he came to collect our money and drop off the pepperoni pie. Even though we knew there was no way he would be able to detect our peculiar conditions, we still felt uneasy, at least I did.

Scott had made the remark, "Even though we don't have the right equipment down there, we've got to do our best to make it look that way, or who knows what might go wrong?" We knew we had to cling to each other, that we were both deeply invested in guarding our own and each other's secrets. So remembering something that he'd once heard about his distant cousin Charlie stories and rumors circulated about his crossdressing Scott took us onto the Internet and a search for a piece of latex equipment that he'd heard could hide my newfound genitalia.

Before the evening was over we'd found out that it's called a gaffe and ordered one discreetly shipped to our house on rush delivery. We also ordered him a strap-on contraption that would give him the appearance of his old masculine mechanics where it counted. They were both scheduled to arrive on Monday. Until then we'd have to improvise.

We were convinced that our awaited prosthetics would do the trick for possible public difficulties and keep our secrets intact. We just didn't know how hard that challenge would end up being....





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